There is a mystery, hindering itself in the grey matter; spotted or scattered. Like, do you ever wonder how much you exist in other people’s life? It’s a mystery unfathomable as Mona Lisa‘s smile. It makes me curious if someone thinks of me when a certain song is played along with my unsynchronised awkward moves, or when they pass a specific place or town. I wonder how many stories I’ve been a part of that I may have forgotten and still exist in the words I’ve never heard. I don’t know if someday, someone out of nowhere completes my regular exigently with “No mustard sauce”. It is tough to count how many times you pass through someone’s head. It’s a perplexity of thoughts; like walking in a blind alley or confronting a deadlock as it an unsolvable mystery to everyone.